Of Love and Apple Juice
by Lydia E. Nheers
Summary: Martin has noticed for the last few weeks that something was off with his First Officer. He has no idea what to do about it until one day Douglas leaves his wallet on the plane and Martin goes to drop it off. Douglas/Martin. Hope you enjoy!


**AN: I don't own Cabin Pressure. That belongs to John Finnemore and to the BBC. This is my first Cabin Pressure fic, and I really hope you enjoy it. I don't have anyone to Brit-pick so any mistakes are firmly my own, and please do forgive any OOCness. **

The plane landed smoothly and Douglas performed the post landing checks quietly and without a fuss. Actually, he had been quiet throughout the whole flight from Florida home to Fitton. He had been increasingly and uncharacteristically subdued throughout the last few weeks, but today was even more obvious. He didn't suggest a word game, and barely uttered a word when Martin tried to goad him into playing. When he didn't even argue over the cheese tray and said he didn't want any, The Captain's concern had escalated and he had to say something.

"Are you alright, Douglas?" He asked somewhere over the Atlantic.

"Oh yes. Fine. Never better." He had replied distractedly.

"Right. Okay." Martin knew to drop it and not bring it up again. He allowed the flight deck to fall into silence again, but kept sneaking sideways glances at his First Officer who sat still in his chair, eyes forward yet faraway.

After another half hour, Arthur burst onto the flight deck with two hot cups of coffee. "Hello chaps!" He said cheerfully and handed them their cups. "How long til landing?"

"About another hour." Martin replied, taking his cup. "Thank you Arthur."

Douglas took his cup with a quiet "Thank you" and went back to looking out the window.

"Are you done with the cheese tray?" Arthur asked, a hopeful note entering his voice as he looked at the fuller than usual tray.

"I am." Martin answered. "Are you, Douglas?"

"Yes. I'm not hungry. Have at it, Arthur."

"Are you sure? There's a lot here." Arthur edged closer to it.

Douglas waved his hand absently and Martin said "Yes, go ahead."

"Are-are you alright, Douglas?" He came closer to him and put a tentative hand on Douglas' shoulder. "You've just seemed…I dunno. Sad these past few weeks. Can I help? I love helping. What is it? "

"I'm _fine._" His tone grew icy and clipped. "I'm perfectly fine. Just because I'm not in the mood for an insipid word game or revolting cheese does not mean that I am sad. Kindly take your hand off my shoulder and leave me alone."

Arthur immediately withdrew and left, leaving the cheese tray behind.

"Douglas..." Martin started. "That was a little harsh."

He breathed deep through his nose and stood. "I will apologize." He left and returned a few minutes later, sat down and remained silent throughout the rest of the trip.

After they landed and everything was complete, Douglas immediately got up and exited the plane, got into his car and drove away, not saying a word.

Martin sighed, running a hand through his ginger curls and stood up. He looked down and saw Douglas' wallet on the floor. It must have fallen out of his pocket in his rush to leave. He pocketed it. He'd bring it to his house later. It was just after noon now, He had a van job to get to by three. There was just enough time for him to get home, change, get his van and get to his client. His only client for that week in fact, and he was eager to get to her before she had the sense to change her mind. He pulled his mobile out of his flight bag and turned it on to text Douglas that he would be coming later in the evening with his forgotten wallet. He didn't get a response, so he put Douglas out of mind and left the plane.

It was after seven when he remembered Douglas' wallet in his pocket. He had had a long, exhausting day and all he wanted to do was go home, maybe have a beer with one of the students if they were sharing and crawl into bed. His stomach growled, and he amended his plan to include a stop to a shop on the way home and pick up a few things for dinner.

He had been paid nearly double his going rate in a tip from his client, a little old woman named Mabel. She had reminded him of his mum, made a cup of tea and insisted he drink it after the work was done. She was moving into her daughter's house and needed Martin to move her dresser, a couple of chairs and dozens of boxes of books. They talked as he worked. He recounted some stories of flying with MJN and she was held spellbound. It was…nice having someone listen with interest to him for a change. She asked question after question and he was only too happy to answer. So all in all, it was a highly enjoyable afternoon. It was a relatively easy job, the tea and conversation were good and she paid him in cash, and when he tried to give her change back, she adamantly refused to take it. He thanked her profusely and left with a tin of biscuits she also pressed on him saying that he was far too thin and needed to be fed up.

So he had some money in his pocket, and knew he'd be able to buy some real food. He had nothing but pasta for three days and a filet of fish sounded absolutely delicious. If he planned wisely, he'd be able to buy something relatively cheap, and put the rest of the money away for an oil change for the van. He'd also be able to make the biscuits stretch for at least a week. So he was cheerful as he got into his van to head to Douglas' to drop the wallet off.

He checked his messages and saw he hadn't received a response to the text he had sent hours ago, so he called him. It went straight to voicemail and Martin was getting worried. What's been bothering Douglas so much? These last few weeks, it had been like a ghost had been on deck with him.

Douglas barely spoke to him now, and at first, Martin had to admit, the change was nice. He took orders without a fuss, he didn't try to humiliate him at word games, and when they did play, Martin nearly always won, and Douglas would lose without any complaint. Which, looking back, should have been the first clue that something was decidedly Not Right with the first officer.

Martin thought back a moment, he had never seen Douglas like this before. Even during his last divorce, he had managed to keep his spirits up. Yes, he had been a little snippy and sarcastic on the day his divorce from Helena had been finalized, (Douglas had told him and Arthur when he accidentally hurt the latter's feelings) but they understood. That was to be expected. He was back to himself the very next day, as if nothing had happened. Not even when they argued, which almost every day, was Douglas this…well…Arthur was right. Sad.

When they were fighting, Douglas would redouble his efforts to win every game, get the very best cheese on the tray, undermine his every command and humiliate him in front of the passengers. Anything to get one over on everyone else, and make sure everyone and sundry knew he was the superior one.

The drive was quiet and quick. At least he had missed rush hour and for this, he was profoundly grateful. He parked in the drive and made sure the wallet was in his pocket, looking up at the house. All of the lights were off, but Douglas' Lexus was parked out front, so he must be home. After all, where could he go with no wallet?

He had only been to Douglas' house a few times while he was married to the most recent Mrs Richardson. It was a smallish home with a large back garden. Douglas had thrown a party last summer for the members of MJN and everyone who works on the airfield. It had been fun, even for Martin who spent most of the day playing card games with Arthur and Carolyn while Douglas held court while he grilled. At the end of the day, he sent Martin home with enough hamburgers and sausages to last him nearly two weeks, insisting that they were leftovers and would go off otherwise and surely, he could share them with the students in his building if need be.

The door swung open to his gentle knock and he called in. "Douglas?" No answer. Surely the house wasn't broken into. It was too quiet and still for that. Maybe he had gone to bed? But it was only a quarter to eight. And Martin was pretty sure that Douglas wouldn't be stupid enough to leave the door open.

He entered the house cautiously and closed the door behind him. "Douglas?" He called again a little louder into the darkness. There was a small light ahead of him through the sitting room, coming from where he knew the kitchen was. He followed it on tip toe. "Douglas? I have your wallet."

Martin came into the kitchen where the light was. "Douglas, I have…" his voice died in his mouth. Douglas looked terrible.

He was sitting at his kitchen table with a half empty bottle of Taliskar in front of him, and a nearly empty glass in his hand. The light from the small ceiling fan above him threw his face deeper into shadows, making him look older than he really was. His face was haggard and worn and his eyes were sad as he looked up at Martin who stood in the doorway. "Good evening, Martin." His voice was ragged and he took a sip of his drink.

"Douglas, what's wrong?" He sat down at the table. "You shouldn't be drinking."

Douglas let out a humourless laugh and took another gulp and refilled the glass. "And yet, here I am."

"What happened?" Martin asked softly, wondering if he should pat him on the arm. "Let me put on some tea." He was no good at this comforting thing. It always made him feel awkward and uncomfortable to see others upset. Arthur should be here. Arthur could put anyone to rights. Even his presence itself was a comfort. His wide-eyed innocence, big smile and unmatched enthusiasm were enough to make anyone smile. Even Carolyn on her gale force eleven days were no match for Arthur who could make her smile in no time.

"I do not want tea. Thank you." Douglas said robotically and took another sip.

"Then what do you want? What's going on? Please…" Martin looked into his face. "Can I do something?"

He shook his greying head and looked at the table. "I'm quitting MJN, Martin." He said with finality. "You're the first person I've told. I'm just about to write my resignation letter which I will give Carolyn in the morning."

Martin's eyes widened and he reeled back a moment in his chair. "No! You can't! Why? Is something I've done? Or Carolyn?"

"No. Nothing that you've _done_." He took another long swallow of the amber liquid in the glass. "I just…I've realized I have a few things I need to sort out."

The Captain's eyes narrowed. "Please don't say that you've gone and gotten yourself involved in smuggling again."

"No. Nothing like that." He waved his hand at him. "I just can't go on there."

"But why not? Carolyn pays you a pretty decent wage. Certainly more than she does me." He added, trying and failing to keep a note of bitterness out of his voice, but hoping that a jibe at his lack of salary would at least get Douglas to smile a little.

Instead, Douglas actually met his gaze for the first time since he had entered the kitchen and Martin saw something that truly shook him to the core. It was more surprising and unexpected than even his announcement of his departure. He saw pure, unadulterated sadness and heartbreak reflected in Douglas' eyes, and Martin felt his heart break for him. They didn't always get along, but Martin considered Douglas to be a friend. His best friend, really. His only friend. Yes, he had Arthur too, but Arthur was rather more like a child or a lovable puppy than an actual mate. And if Martin were being wholly truthful to himself…he considered Douglas to be…a little more than a friend.

He had noticed the first stirrings of attraction to his first officer years ago, when he first started with MJN. What man wouldn't be attracted, even if they weren't gay? That charm and charisma? That voice? His intelligence and wit and cleverness? Soon, Martin had felt himself very attracted to him physically too. The age difference was no matter to Martin and very quickly, he was harboring fantasies of Douglas' strong, wide hands on him and that mouth that he had heard singing Italian opera all over his skin. Maybe he'd encourage Martin to hit a few high notes himself…

But he squashed those budding feelings, nipping them firmly in the bud. Even if Douglas were inclined towards men, which his three wives and thousands of stewardesses were decidedly not male, Douglas was his first officer, and he was the captain, and he would never allow anything to stand in the way of that. Their professional relationship must come before any and all personal ones. So he stamped down any and all fantasies of him, sexual and/or romantic.

That plan worked just fine. He hadn't dated much in those years since, but he told himself that flying and his man with a van job took up too much of his time. Not to mention that he was always broke, and it's not like his physical look was much to offer any man. He was short and skinny with a shock of ginger hair, all elbows and knees and sharp angles. So he remained steadfastly unattached, and everything was fine. Maybe he wasn't the happiest man in the world, but he was still the captain of G-ERTI and that was more than enough for him. But to see Douglas like this, alone in his kitchen with a bottle of whiskey and heartbroken eyes made Martin want to weep.

"Oh Douglas…what's happened? You've not been yourself these last few weeks, and it went from being a little strange to frankly…" he took a breath. "I'm really worried about you. What's wrong?" He forgot himself and put his hand on his first officer's forearm, giving it a little squeeze.

He looked at his arm and back up at Martin's earnest face before taking another drink. "I can't do this anymore." He mumbled.

"Do what? Fly? Travel? Go around the world? Dominate me at word games?" He smiled encouragingly at him. "Don't tell me Douglas Richardson is afraid of flying now. Or of Rhyming Flights."

"I can't do this anymore. With you." He took another drink. "I was hoping to avoid all this nonsense and just resign over a seeming fit about money or something equally untrue. I can't fly anymore with you right there beside me, being…you."

"Me?" He was genuinely offended. "_ME?!" _Martin stood up angrily and started for the door, only to turn back and rant from the kitchen doorway. "Let me tell you something. I may not be the greatest pilot in the world, and certainly not as good as the almighty _Douglas Richardson _as everyone makes _abundantly_ clear. I may not have your natural ability and I may not be this smarmy sky-god that pulls stewardesses left, right and centre, but…" He waved his hands as he gathered steam. "I'm a good pilot. I'm a better one than I used to be, and I am a damned sight better than the piss poor academy graduates that you see these days! And I put up with a hell of a lot, you know! I don't get paid to do my job, which is a bloody difficult and dangerous one, I constantly am being put down by my first officer who wouldn't know humility if it bit him on the nose and I have to prove myself every bloody day to every single passenger that takes one look at the pair of us and very naturally assumes that I cannot possibly be the captain next to you! And so now, you're leaving MJN because what? I'm rule abiding and…and I know that can be annoying to you, but I don't care! Or because I always lose the word games! Or is it because I…I dunno, I-I make sure the log books are complete on time, or because I don't want to fly in hazardous weather? Or is it because…"

"_IT'S BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, YOU BERK!_" Douglas roared. He stood up and slammed his hands on the table, making the empty glass rattle. His chest heaved and he looked at him. "It's because I love you." He repeated, voice softer.

The floor fell from Martin's feet and he was aware of a swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach. Shock flooded him and he immediately blushed. "You…you…what?" he spluttered. "_What_?"

Douglas drew a deep breath. "I love you, Martin. And I'm sorry." He straightened and put his hands into his trouser pockets and that's when Martin noticed he was still wearing his uniform.

"I don't understand. You aren't…you don't like…you can't…" He blinked rapidly at him as his brain tried to catch up to what was happening.

"I do. And I have, for a long time. Months." He looked down at the ground. "But, I know that it's impossible. And that's why I'm leaving MJN. Because I can't sit next to you day after day, feeling the way I do, and knowing I can't actually_ do_ anything about it." He gave a small laugh. "You have no idea how hard it is to not do anything."

"You aren't…gay though. I mean…your wives and all those stewardesses." Martin mumbled and looked away.

"No. I'm not. Has it ever occurred to you, Martin, that there may be more orientations than gay and straight? I am what is known as bisexual. Though…I have not been interested in a man in quite a number of years. Until you, of course." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry."

"No. No don't apologize. I just can't _believe…_" His voice trailed off.

"What?" Douglas asked sharply. "What can't you believe exactly? That I fell in love again? With a man?"

"No. I can't believe…it's me." Martin took a step closer and looked him in the eye.

Then…he understood completely. A spike of white hot anger stabbed him deep in the chest. Fury rapidly took over as he felt like flames were licking his skin. His breathing grew rapid and tight as he fought to control himself. He took another few steps closer, fists clenched. He was going to punch him. He was going to hit him. This was the absolute worst trick Douglas had ever pulled on him. "Wait. Wait a second. This is a joke. This is another way to humiliate me, isn't it?" he hissed, shaking all over. "You what? Found out I'm gay and I had…have…feelings…for you, and you go and-" he couldn't get the rest of the words out, because at that moment, Douglas was standing right in front of him, grabbing him and kissing him hard.

Douglas' hands gentled and one slid up to the back of Martin's head, holding him in place, the other rested on the small of his back. His lips were firm and unmoving against his, but unhesitating and so completely honest, Martin understood. This was no game. Or joke. Or lie. This was real. This was real and Douglas was here, kissing him, and _god_ it felt so damned good. Because _of course _Douglas would be good at kissing. He was good at everything. And before he knew it, Martin was kissing him back. After a few moments, something else registered and he pulled away slightly.

"Apple juice?" He ran his tongue over his lower lip.

"Yes. Apple juice." Douglas smiled back, and then looked at the floor, which to Martin was shocking. Douglas could be shy. Who knew? "I bought the Taliskar on my way home, and I almost drank it. I stared at it for a while and then drained it. I then filled it with apple juice. I like apple juice, it's the same colour and the motion of pouring it into the glass with ice, felt almost the same. Why are you laughing?"

Martin was laughing. He was laughing hard, head thrown back and eyes closed. "You are so…you." He said in broken words before looking up into his questioning and wary eyes and lost it again. It was the release of years of tension and emotions and anger and hurt. It was five years of avoiding eye contact and any sort of accidental touch in their close quarters of horrible shared hotel rooms and in the even closer flight deck. Of feeling pangs of jealousy when he thought of Douglas' pretty wife and then feeling slightly happy when he divorced. Then months spent berating himself because he felt that small happiness. Laughter seemed the way that Martin was going to let that go, and accept the inevitable truth that he was there, in Douglas' dimly lit kitchen and then Douglas said he loved him and then had kissed him. The utter ridiculousness of it all only made him laugh harder.

Eventually, Douglas began to laugh too. It started off as small giggling in pure reaction to Martin's laughter, before graduating to full howls of laughter from deep in his belly as the situation hit him as well. They clutched at and leaned on each other for support before they spilled to the kitchen floor, heads on each other's shoulders and arms around the other's middles.

"I love you too." Martin said softly when the last of their giggles subsided, yet they remained entwined in each other's arms. "I mentioned it just a few minutes ago, in case you didn't hear. I fell in love with you pretty much the first moment I saw you."

Douglas threw him a large, self-congratulatory grin. "I _do_ seem to have that effect on people rather a lo-" he began before Martin was kissing him again. His kiss wasn't the firm, in control and powerful kiss that Douglas' had been. It was fluttering and nervous. Like he didn't know he was going to do it until he was doing it. He shyly put his hand on Douglas' cheek and put the other one on the back of his right shoulder.

Douglas pulled back and looked at him, his eyes wide and pupils huge and blown. "That was the greatest kiss of my life." He said very seriously.

"I'm sure it wasn't." Martin let out an anxious laugh, eyes darting all over the room.

"Yes. Yes it was." Douglas put his hand on Martin's cheek and pulled his face upwards so their eyes met. "That was the greatest kiss of my life because it was the first kiss you have bestowed upon me." He paused and his voice became softer. "Martin, this is real. I love you. I really do. Please believe me."

"I do." He nodded. "I can't believe it's me though. Why? Why me, Douglas?"

"To be honest, I really don't know." Douglas answered and when Martin's eyes looked slightly hurt, he leaned in and kissed him quickly. "It sneaked up on me, all of a sudden, months ago. One day, you were nattering on about some sort of safety regulation or rule or something and like a bolt of lightning; I looked at you and knew that I had fallen head over captain's hat in love with you. Just like that." He snapped his fingers to demonstrate.

"Well, that analogy doesn't make sense, because you were falling for me, and you don't have a captain's hat because-"

"Because you're the captain." Douglas interrupted with a smirk.

"Well, yes. I am."

"Of course you are." Douglas kissed him again, cutting off anymore words. Martin happily complied before breaking apart to stand up, pull Douglas to his feet and take his hand. "What do we do now?" He asked, looking at their entwined fingers, rather liking the contrast of Douglas' wider ones to Martin's thinner ones.

Douglas cleared his throat and Martin looked up to meet his eyes. For the first time in weeks, he saw the spark of mischief that he had never thought he would actually miss in Douglas' dark eyes. He came in close and began kissing his neck and then nibbling up to his earlobe. Martin shivered and then gasped as Douglas' free hand ghosted down Martin's torso and landed on his hip, pulling him in closer.

"Hey Chief." He began directly into Martin's ear in a way that sent shivers down his spine and made the little hairs on his arms stand on end. He felt his knees starting to shake a little and his cock becoming more than a little interested. "I may be wrong, but I think that we both mutually love each other. This makes me feel…really quite randy. I suggest that you and I retire to my bedroom which is down the hall, last door on the right, and allow things to take their natural course. How does that sound to you?"

Martin swallowed and nodded. His tongue felt too big for his mouth but he managed to say in a soft, almost tremor free voice; "You-you have control."

"Then lead on." He gave a little shove in the direction of the hall and Martin turned to see Douglas smirking at him, but his eyes were soft and fond and filled with more affection than Martin had ever seen. He reached out and took Martin's hand in his. "You are the Captain, after all."

The End


End file.
